What Hands Hold
by HerenyaHope
Summary: One-shot drabble based off of my story His Homecoming. 'Such small hands,' thought Cole. 'The Inquisitor has small hands too.' Cole knew about the complicated relationship between the Inquisitor and Solas. Their young daughter, did not. Mentions of Solavellan


For such small hands, they held so much sway over Cole. They pawed at the brim of his hat, the little voice they belonged to begging, "Lemme wear, lemme wear!" Cole of course, was powerless to refuse, and allowed those small hands to pull his hat from his head, ruffling up his hair as it was slipped away.

The little girl giggled as she stuck the hat on her head. Only her smile and the tip of her nose could be seen. "Lookit me, Cole," she grinned.

"I am," Cole replied. He was more human now, and his ability to sense the emotions and thoughts of others was dim, like cotton in his ears. Despite this, there was this warmth, this comforting essence that radiated from her like it did her mother. However, unlike the Inquisitor, who was a sun, her child was a just single sunbeam. Still, she glowed all the same.

The hat's brim, already large on Cole, looked comical on the three year-old. "It too big," she said, as she used her hands to prop up his hat.

' _Such small hands,'_ thought Cole _. 'The Inquisitor has small hands too.'_ There were many ways in which Lori was like her mother: kindness, honesty, smiles, bright blue eyes, and small hands. So much of the Inquisitor was passed to her child.

"Come on, Cole. We go here," Lori said. The little girl rose to her feet, and took Cole's calloused hand in hers, and began to drag him towards the stairs leading up to the kitchens, where a patch of daisies grew. Cole could have easily tugged his hand out of hers, easier than pulling his daggers from their sheaves. But he didn't. The various guard and servants passing by paid no mind to the child and her lanky companion. The Inquisitor's daughter was a staple in the keep, and it was not uncommon to see members of her Inner Circle charged with watching her. Cole liked when the Inquisitor asked him to watch Lori for her. Children were much like spirits, Cole felt. Their wants and desires were straightforward, easily sated. Their emotions were simple, but passionate, unlike the complex ever growing webs of an adult's mind.

"I make crown," Lori said as she plopped down in front of the daisies. Her hair, long and wavy, spilled from under her commandeered hat and got in her face. She pushed it out of her eyes and started to pluck the daisies from the grass. Lori's hair was not like her mother's. The Inquisitor's was dark, raven black. Lori's was light yellow. Her father's hair had been yellow too, long ago when he was young, before it darkened with age and then was lost completely. Only Cole knew this though.

"Cole you want crown?" Lori asked. She'd pushed the hat up further, and looked up at him with curious blue eyes. Eyes mother-coloured, eyes father-shaped.

"Okay," Cole replied, not about to refuse her.

The girl grinned, and Cole felt the warmth increase. Her little hands worked the daisy stems into a chain, her brow furrowed in concentration. In her focus she resembled her father, just like when she proudly relayed some new thing she'd learned to whoever was willing to listen. Her chin was tucked near her chest as she stared down at her work, the chin with the same dimple _he_ had. Cole could see so much of _him_ in the little nuances within his daughter. The rogue suspected the Inquisitor could see them as well. Cole would never say anything, though.

"I make you one, and one for mama too," Lori said as she added more daisies to her chain.

"She would enjoy that. She likes flowers." She preferred Crystal Grace, not daisies. It wouldn't matter, however. The child could give the Inquisitor a bundle of weeds, and the elven woman would accept them gladly.

Lori had placed Cole's hat onto the ground, turned over so that it could be used as a bowl to store her flowers. She reached in and grabbed another, adding it to the chain that would soon become a crown. "Mama taught me," Lori informed Cole with a smile. "She teach me lotsa stuff."

Cole knew that. Nimwen was always trying to teach her daughter things. Elvish, Dalish tales, and stories of her journeys, the names of the plants and the stars, the mage was passionate about teaching her daughter, letting her mind being expanded and enriched and trying to give her more sides to a story. Just as _he_ had done for her, once upon a time. Cole did not speak of Solas to the Inquisitor. All those years ago, when the emotional wounds were still fresh, he'd tried to help heal the pains caused by his departure and the child he'd unknowingly left within her. Her mind had been dark, a tumbling sea of misery mixed with anger-but mostly sadness. Cole tried to help her, but for a time there was nobody who could bring her out of the shadows she'd been enveloped in. She had just defeated a self-titled god, and yet it was her own love that had struck her heart. It was only the knowledge of the little life growing in her that kept her going and soon helped her rise out from the storm in which she had been drowning. Her sorrow turned to bitterness, fuelled by the longing and loneliness she could not rid herself of, not matter how she detested it. She emerged to dry land, but the storm was still there, ever behind her; and Cole could not find a way to help her.

A light weight fell onto his head, and petals tickled his forehead.

"Pretty Cole," Lori giggled. "You like it?"

The rogue's fingertips brushed the delicate daisies in his hair. A small smile graced his lips. "Thank you."

The little girl's eyes twinkled, delighted at her caretaker's approval. "Now I make mama's!" she cried. She dug into Cole's hat, pulled out more flowers, and started work on the second crown. "She gonna love it," Lori declared, determined.

Nimwen did not speak of Solas. Nobody did, and for the longest time, Lorien remained oblivious as to why she had no father. Then, she learned about the frescoes. Somebody, nobody knows who, informed Lori that it was in fact her father who was responsible for the artwork adorning the walls of the rotunda. Lori, of course, took this information to her mother. The questions followed. Even with his muffled abilities, Cole had felt the pain in the Inquisitor's heart when Lori asked her about her father. He later tracked down the mage, asking if she was alright, what Cole could do to help. Nimwen looked at him with a gentle smile and sad, tired eyes, and told him that it was fine; there was nothing he could do.

"Cole?"

The rogue blinked, and looked down. Lori stared up at him, her hands still. "You know my daddy?"

Cole stiffened.

"I ask mama again, but she not wanna talk about it. I make her sad." Lori pouted, and Cole could sense the hints of disappointment infecting her usually happy self.

The Inquisitor would want him to remain quiet. She felt the storm the least when she distanced herself from the memories, when she threw herself in the present and kept the past far from her. She thought it would be best if Lori knew nothing about the storm. Was that best though? "You didn't make her sad," Cole assured the child. "She doesn't like to remember, because then it hurts."

"What hurt?"

"Her heart."

"Why?"

"Because she misses him."

"My daddy?"

"Yes."

"Why he leave?"

Cole fingered the petals of one of his crown's daisies. It had been loosely tied into the weave, and was close to falling out. "He felt he had a duty elsewhere. Save them. Rebuild. Restore. It hurt him to leave, but he felt he had to. He wanted to stay."

"Why?"

"Because he still loves her."

Lori's fingers played in her unfinished crown. "Mama love him?"

"Very much."

"She still love him?"

"Yes. That's why it hurts when she thinks about it."

Lori looked down at her flowers. Just one more and the crown would be complete. "I no ask no more," she decided. She plucked another flower from the hat and tied it into the rest, her second crown complete.

Cole's pale eyes traced her small face. Her features were glum, not unlike the face he saw on Solas the day he came back from Crestwood. It was less intense, a single glass of water compared to the ocean it came from, for even in her melancholy the child had never felt sorrow on the scale of her father, but the look was all the same.

"Your mother will like that," Cole said, pointing to the crown. "If we place it in her room before she comes back from her meeting, she can be surprised by it."

The young elf perked up. "Yeah! And we get cake and put it there too? Mama like cake," the girl giggled. Just like that, the cloud was gone, only clear skies remained. "Let go, Cole." Lori picked up the rogue's hat and forced it onto his head, over his daisy crown. Cole could feel the leftover flowers tangle in his hair and in his crown, but he didn't care. He gave her a gentle smile as he rose to his feet. He extended his hand, ready for her to take it. Instead, he felt hands tug on his shirt.

She looked up at him with big eyes, bouncing in place.

 _'Such small hands,'_ Cole thought as he reached down and picked the girl up. She giggled and hugged her arms around his neck as her legs clung to his waist. She was a tiny thing, light enough for even the lithe Cole to carry her effortlessly. Such a small weight, a comforting presence.

"I put it here," Lori told him. She reached up and stuck the Inquisitor's crown onto the metal center of his hat. Her hands returned to his shoulders, her tiny fists twisted in the patchwork fabric. These small hands, not even strong enough to wield one of his daggers, had so much power over him. They held the power of two great legacies, and yet they spent their time weaving daisies. The Wolf and the Inquisitor. Two souls plagued by guilt, sadness, and the burden of duty; and in their union they created this child: innocent, naive, and kind.

"Miss Dona give us cake?" Lori asked, hopeful.

Cole would do whatever it took to protect this girl, keep her from being swept up in the storm. Just as her mother had done for Cole. "Let us hope so."

"Hope mama likes it," Lori said against his shirt, her finger playing with a hole in the shoulder.

"She will." Cole smiled. There was a breeze, and Cole heard the wind ruffle the daisies on his hat. Small hands held his heart and his fate in their grasp. He carried her into the kitchen.


End file.
